Hey everyone! Here it is, after sooooo long; part two of Night Terrors. I've gone over the first chapter a bit, so there might be some new information that you might not remember. Then again, it's probably been a long time since you've read the first chapter, too, so you may not remember much anyways! XD

I also realized how inaccurately I've described the prison, but in all honesty, I'm not going to go back and change eeeeeverything to fit how a prison SHOULD be, much less a penitentiary. So, next time I write a Yancy fic, expect a very different way of writing!

________________________________________________________________________________

Something smacked into the side of your face. You were snatched from your daydreams with a startled jolt, looking around wildly.

"Ay, Y/N! Rise and shine, puddin', you got a job to do."

That would be Olivia, one of the few inmates you didn't dislike or fear. You were standing in the laundry room, your assigned work area. Olivia was taking dirty clothing from a grey cart and tossing them into the washer. You guessed that was where the old shirt that had just been flung at you had come from. It had hit you surprisingly hard.

"Sorry, Olivia," you apologized, and pulled your own cart to the washer that you preferred; the one in the corner, secluded from the rest of your coworkers. They all liked to work side-by-side, laughing and talking to pass the time.

Olivia was a rather short African American woman, only a few years older than you. She had beautiful dark hair that was always pulled back in a braid while working. She hummed an "Uh-huh" and said, "Just get'cha head outta the clouds before I have to pull you down myself."

While you tossed all of the shirts and socks into the washer, your mind began to wander again. Yancy and you hadn't talked much since the night of his terrors. Mason had been sent to another cell after Hank and Ringer filled out a complaint on the ruthless man. The Warden had ordered Yancy to another cell to be alone at night, so he didn't punch the wrong person's lights out again.

Every few mornings, you woke up with a letter sitting on your table, signed by Yancy himself along with a hardly legible "xoxo". Every letter made those days ten times better. At the same time, it made you a bit doleful; you were nowhere near as stealthy as he, and therefore never really got to bring him any letters in the night. You hoped he knew that you appreciated them.

"What're you dreamin' 'bout, anyways?" Olivia asked.

"Uh..." You searched for some sort of excuse that would hopefully suffice. "Nothing."

Nothing? That's a terrible excuse! She's going to know it's something now. She's probably going to ask again... what do I say? What should I tell her? You turned your face away, hoping she wouldn't notice the panic that you were feeling.

"That's the whitest lie I've ever heard," Olivia said, shaking her head. A smirk spread across her face, her tone changing to fit her playful mood. "Why, it wouldn't happen to be that Yancy boy, would it?"

"Olivia!" you exclaimed through clenched teeth, your eyes darting around at the handful of other people working in a panic. A few giggles and chuckles spread around the room.

"It ain't no secret, sugar," said Olivia, nonchalantly folding some clothes. "He's been makin' them googly-eyes at'cha for a while now."

Your face felt oddly warm now. "R-really? I-I mean- no! No, he wouldn't do that."

Olivia gave you her infamous 'Who do you think you're kidding?' look—you were pretty sure she INVENTED that look—and said, "Come now, Y/N. We all know you two're close since he stayed with you that night."

A teasing whistle came from one of the other inmates, your face flushing with heat as the others began laughing.

"H-he needed somewhere to stay, that's all," you protested weakly, turning to your cart to hurriedly throw the dirty clothes inside. A few fell out of your hands, clumsy with embarrassment, and as you bent down to snatch them up you hit your head on the side of your cart. "Ow!"

"Oh, girl, please!" the inmate, Gabriel, chimed from where he was folding and stacking a pile of shirts. "He talks about you all the time, honey."

"It's kinda annoying, actually," said 'Tough' Theresa, as her group lovingly called her. "Well... in a... sort of cute way, I guess. But still annoying."

"And not to mention those-" Olivia wiggled her eyebrows. "-looks you give him."

You went pale as you rubbed your dully aching head. "What looks?"

Gabriel chuckled. "The look with the big eyes-"

"Red cheeks," a woman named Kelsey added.

"An innocent little smile," said Olivia.

Theresa scoffed. "And we can't forget about the freakin' hair twirling."

"Yeah, it's super cliché," Gabriel tutted, shaking his head disdainfully with puckered lips.

You shove some dirty clothing into the washer. "I do not twirl my hair!"

"Yes, you do," replied every individual within the laundry room.

Disbelief crossed your face as looked down at your hands. There was NO way. You looked up nervously, instinctively tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Do I really?"

Everyone's eyes immedaitely drooped impatiently. You had no idea why.

"Well, either way-" You turned back to your job, emptying the cart of its contents and, rather aggressively, pushing the door shut behind them. "-there's nothing going on between us, and that's all that matters."

"Pfft," scoffed Theresa.

"Ha!" laughed Gabriel.

You shook your head, trying to hide your warm face from the other's view. I can't be that obvious... can I? God, I have to be more subtle about it. If Kaden caught on... you repressed a shiver. Oh, the consequences of a 'forbidden' prison love story. The two of you might as well audition for Orange is the New Black.

Your shift went on for what felt like years. The stench of sweaty, food-stained, and what looked like blood-smeared clothing was something that you had gotten used to in your time at the Happy Trails Penitentiary, especially the 'blood' part. It was terrifying what people did to stay here. But after a while, you had to admit... you didn't really blame them.

You're just biased, a voice hissed in the back of your head. If he wasn't here, you'd have no problem leaving this place in the dust.

You couldn't deny that.

When, finally, your shift did end, you retired to your cell with a yawn or two. Strewn messily about your little table were many drawings, usually just of simple things like flowers, birds, trees, or other little things. They were usually drawn when you felt homesick for something, for example; you drew flowers when you longed for the comfort of the garden in the back of Mark's place. You wondered how it was doing. Though you were hopeful, you doubted that the delicate little plants have survived this long. Another thing you tended to draw was hummingbirds, as you admired the shine of their iridescent feathers as they swooped in speeding arcs towards the feeders you had set out for them. You recalled a fond memory where you had stood still long enough for one to land on your arm, and though it was very brief, it was still exciting.

This time, you sat down and... nothing really came to mind. Yes, you were homesick for many things, but it seemed you'd drawn them already. Your favorite spot in the park? Done. The rabbit that sometimes came to visit you? Done. The museum that you'd tried to rob with Mark? Yup, you'd even drawn some of the museum's most interesting possessions.

Your pencil tapped tiredly against the table's rough surface, as if it was impatiently waiting for your creativity. Sorry, buddy, you wanted to say, I don't think it's coming any time soon. Your heavy gaze instinctively wandered over to the far wall, your eyes lingering on the spot where you kept all of Yancy's notes.

Out of the blue, your creativity burst into the room with a grand idea in its clutches.

With gentle swirls of your wrist, the lead drew light lines across the sheet of paper. You let your mind wander as you propped your chin boredly up on your fist. You yawned, wondering how close you were to curfew. Exhaustion pooled in your drooping eyes, and after only a mere fifteen minutes of trying to draw, you had fallen asleep on the job. You tumbled down through an abyss devoid of dreams as you slumped over the table.

It felt like you'd been wandering the blank void for five seconds before you subconsciously heard the "Lights out!" being shouted through the hallways. You stirred, shifting a bit where you sat, before promptly returning to your slumber.

Your sleep was again disturbed not long after. Something rough swept across your cheek with care, and you instinctively curled away from it, nuzzling deeper into your elbow as you tried to drift back off to sleep. Sleep came to collect you again, only to lose you to the feeling of something thin being draped across your shoulders. The sound of fabric being smoothed out filled your ears as the feeling of hands brushed your back here and there.

You were awake enough now to say something, but you wouldn't remember it in the morning.

All you recalled before you fell asleep was a deep, humored hum as a caring hand laid on your head, coaxing you back into your sleep with a few soft sweeps of a thumb's caressing.

/_-|-_

BANG, BANG!

"Rise and shine!"

You jumped so bad that you almost flew out of your chair, the blanket covering your once still body sliding from your shoulders. The moment it dropped from your shoulders, you felt the oddly chilly air hit your skin, sending goosebumps up your arms and legs. You shivered, picking up the blanket from the floor. Just as you were about to put it back on your bed, you stopped in your tracks. Why was it off the bed in the first place?

"What?" you muttered to yourself, looking around. Had you woken up in the middle of the night? No, that wouldn't make sense; surely you'd remember getting up, wrapping yourself in a blanket, and then sitting back down at the table. Well, if I didn't do it, then... your eyes wander over to that very table you'd been sleeping at, and noticed another addition to it.

A folded up piece of paper, its origin unmistakable. You tossed the blanket carelessly onto the bottom bunk and snatched the letter from where it sat. As gentle as the wings of a butterfly, you pushed the card open between your fingers, squinting to read the familiar chicken scratch.

Good morning, sleepy head. I got a new job yesterday! I'm working in the Electrical Shop now. I got a feeling it's gonna be so much better than working in the kitchen. But, you know what that means? Now we can see each other! I know you're scared of Kaden, but I need to see you. Meet me in the yard at break. I'll be be by the basketball court.

With love, Yancy xoxo

He's working in the Electrical Shop, you thought to yourself. You hated yourself for thinking it, but you couldn't ignore that stab of disappointment in your chest. Those who worked in the kitchen were always woken up earlier than the others, and they had a different schedule as well. You'd been using this to your advantage, hiding away during those brief moments where Yancy would be able to see you.

Now I know, reader, what you're thinking; you sound kind of like a douche. But you were terrified of dragging Yancy into your problems. After the fight you'd heard about between Kaden and Yancy, you had no idea what Kaden was willing to do to him if given the chance.

You sighed. It had been far too long since you two had spent some time together...

It was dangerous, but there was no way you could say no to him. I'm such a moron. Mark would never approve of me putting my partner in danger. Your heart ached as the image of his face crossed your mind.

I better get going if I don't want to get yelled at. You tucked the note into the crack in the wall, your stash slowly overflowing with marked paper. Only so many notes could be added before it became too inconspicuous. There had to be somewhere better to keep them... you'd figure that out later.

You spent some time combing your hair neatly and putting on deodorant. You decided that you might as well take a shower today, being that today was your assigned laundry day. You couldn't deny that you wanted to look your best for your dear Yancy. You took your pack of hygiene products and stuck your comb in with everything else, carrying your laundry bag and clean uniform with you. Before you left, you were quick to tidy your bed.

"Hey, you deaf?" growled the guard outside. "Get out here. Now."

"Sorry, sir," you responded, taking the note and squeezing it as far back into the thin slot as you could. It could only be seen if you were really looking for it. After you doubled checked it briefly, you hurried outside of your cell. Two guards awaited your arrival. As you'd been taught, you stood outside your cell while one entered it, going to check everything over.

Every morning you sat there, riddled with anxiety. One of these days they were going to find them. The notes. There was no doubt Kaden would be notified of them. You had a plan, of course; you'd just tell them that they were delivered to you so you'd feel better in the morning, because of the 'oh so bad' nightmares you supposedly had. Maybe it sounded a bit pathetic for an inmate, but after having sobbed in front of the Warden, you hoped that they would believe you. The worst they would probably do is mock you about it, as there were already jokes all around prison about your escape attempt gone wrong.

You could hear your bed, still made from the day before, having its covers torn off in search for a nonexistent object of malintent. The top bunch wasn't free of examination, either. After the guard had decided all was well, he stalked back into the hallway. What was odd, though, was the smug look on his face.

"Nice drawing," he snickered down at you.

Your blood flashed cold. Of course! How stupid could you be? You'd left your drawing out for everyone to see. You swallowed nervously, looking down at your feet. A rush of heat pooled at your cheeks as you realized Yancy had probably seen it, too.

You looked down the lengthy line of inmates, all standing around impatiently to be counted. Some were glaring at you, peeved at the fact you'd held them up a bit. You turned your gaze back down to your shoes in embarrassment.

After all had been accounted for, the guards shouted at each other before the line began moving down to the main hallway. As you walked, you took a sniff at your clothing. Almost immediately, your nose scrunched up in disgust. Even with the deodorant on, you definitely needed to take a shower this morning. Plus, it was protocol that you had to shower at least every three days, and though it was only your second day, you decided you probably shouldn't wait another day. The aroma left in your wake wasn't exactly a pleasant one.

But, first... breakfast.

"Thanks," you said to the kitchen worker, who had just plopped the last piece of your less than desirable breakfast onto your tray. What had been handed to you was canned fruit, two biscuits sitting atop a mound of murky gravy that had some questionable chunks in it, a plastic bowl of tasteless cereal, a cup of straight black coffee, and a cup of fruit juice. Oh, how you missed the Pop-Tarts, the muffins, the eggs, pancakes, bacon... it all sounded so good right now. However, you had to remind yourself that you had it better than most other prisons.

You wandered over to your usual table, the one tucked in the corner, whilst being careful to not trip and turn your breakfast into your next fashion statement. If you're thinking that's oddly specific, it's because it is. You had done that during your first month here, and as long as you were alive, no one would let you forget it.

Wielding your plastic spoon, you shoveled the food into your mouth with no care for how you looked. No one else minded, either. It was relieving to not have a standard to meet when it came to inmates; no need to be prim and proper around here. Although, you supposed you'd rather have that than the dog-eat-dog-world that was Happy Trails Penitentiary.

A whistle caught your attention. The person whistling happened to be making a catchy tune that you happened to know. The words formed in your head while you listened;

Won't you play a simple me-lo-dy,

Like my mo-ther sang to me.

One with good old fa-shioned... harmony.

Play a simple me-lo-dy.

Curiosity turned your head towards the whistler. The person you discovered surprised you; Yancy, whistling the tune of "A Simple Melody" whilst watching you out of the corner of his eye. When you made eye contact, he winked at you as he strolled over to his table. Something felt odd about the whole ordeal, so you continued to watch your companion sit down at his table. The inmates there all greeted him, to which he replied with that charming smile of his. He was rather cute, wasn't he? You then remembered the laundry team's teasing, and quickly looked away out of embarrassment, poking at your remaining food. Funnily enough, the moment he was in your sight, you no longer wanted to wolf down your food like an animal.

I've never really bothered to care about what anyone else thought. You recalled many late nights of planning the heist with Mark, where you ate very messily and got scolded for getting crumbs and oils all over the plans he had taken so much time to draw out. For some reason, you recalled Mark almost always ordering Chinese for the two of you. You supposed that it was because there was a tiny little Chinese restaurant close by with some pretty tasty food. And although he would always "lovingly judge" you for how you ate, no one else seemed to. You were always in the background, hiding among others. No one payed attention to you. But now... someone did. A few someones, apparently, but only one of them really mattered.

The same tune was played again, successfully catching your attention. Both of you glanced up at each other simultaneously. What was he playing at? Under the table, he held the back of his wrist to you, tapping his finger against an imaginary watch. You frowned; you hadn't a single clue of what he was trying to say. You arched your brow subtly at him, inquiring further. He gave you an expectant nod, his visage asking a question you already knew without the aid of words. It took you a moment, but you eventually got it; he must have been asking about the proposal stated in his note.

You glanced around quickly, doing your best to look like you weren't particularly interested in anything. Your eyes wandered around the cafeteria until they landed on that familiar scarred face you loathed so much. Kaden. His cold eyes scanned the room slowly, no doubt looking into every detail he could find. When you were sure his gaze had left you behind, you looked back at Yancy and sent him an affirmative nod. Though it was obvious he was trying, he wasn't doing a great job of hiding his relieved grin. The joy on his face was contagious, and you quickly averted your eyes down to your food bashfully as heat rose to your cheeks.